


shot, loss, shatter.

by ivanattempts



Category: The LEGO Movie (2014)
Genre: Character Death, M/M, Not that graphic of violence but it needed to be mentioned., coppernauts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:29:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1650311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivanattempts/pseuds/ivanattempts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>one-word prompt meme. || shot, loss, shatter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	shot, loss, shatter.

    In training, they make people wear earmuffs when working on their aim; that’s because the reports from the guns they use are often deafening, and can easily damage sensitive ears, could leave someone with lasting damage. Firing a gun has consequences, and it’s good to remember that before ever even so much as picking one up, before loading it, before holstering it, and certainly before pulling the trigger. Once the bullet is free, there are no take-backs.

    This is not the first time B has fired a gun. Shoot-outs, while not _common_ , are far from unheard of around here. Firefights are a necessary part of his job, and he’s come to accept this. Just, he hadn’t been expecting one  _today_. Today was supposed to be routine — he wasn’t even, strictly speaking, supposed to be on duty. And ordinarily, this wouldn’t be a problem — these people have poor aim, and he’s good at what he does.

    But even the worst shot sometimes gets lucky.

    The exchange of rounds is near-constant, and all he can hear is a dull ringing — it blots out everything else, and he knows he’ll be hearing it for days to come. It’s still there, even as the shots die down, and the last stragglers are rounded up. He’s tired; he wants to go home, put his feet up. Wants to tell Benny about how crazy the day has been, except —

    Except, Benny isn’t at home, because B wasn’t supposed to be at work today. He was just supposed to be showing the other around town, just supposed to be taking him out to lunch. His head turns, and he knows he asks if Benny’s okay, but he can’t hear himself over the ringing in his ears.

    His Gram had been a really superstitious woman. She’d always said that ringing of the ears was a sign that someone had died. He’d never bought into all of that, really, though the thought had come back to him when he’d been going through training at the police academy, back when he’d had his first real case of it. No one had died, then, and he’d forgotten about it almost immediately.

    Benny is curled away from him, in a position that clearly screams _fear_. Hands up, over his helmet, knees tucked up against his chest, face turned slightly away. If he’s answered the question, B can’t hear it over the lingering reverberations of gunfire, and so he reaches out to touch him, instead, to assure him that everything’s okay now.

    It’s only as he shifts in his seat that he catches the glimmer of broken glass on the dashboard, and his brows knit. His hand strays from where it had been moving to shake the other, and instead moves to the clear splinters littering the surface, follows them up to see the cracked windshield, and the small entry point that had caused the fractures to form, spider-webbing outwards from the area. Except, not all of this glass is from his windshield — some of it’s the wrong color, a dull yellow that he recognizes, but can’t immediately place, because the obvious answer is unthinkable.

    His eyes travel to the curled — _slumped_ — figure in the seat beside him, and the strange, dark liquid on the back of the seat, dribbling down sluggishly.

    He wasn’t supposed to be here.

_     His ears are ringing so loudly._

    He was supposed to be off work today.

_     It’s so loud, he can’t hear anything else._

    His hands are shaking as he pushes at Benny’s shoulder, forces him to turn. His hands never shake.

    _A droning, piercing sound that drowns everything else out._

    Benny’s helmet is broken. It’s been that way since he first laid eyes on the other — but not like this. Not with tell-tall splatters on the inside that block out the majority of his face; not with one single, perfect hole in the yellow visor. Some already weakened pieces had cracked and fallen free on impact — all he can see is the lax curve of his mouth, and blood running in three separate rivulets down the curve of his cheek, meeting near his chin.

    B’s lips are moving, but if he’s saying anything, he doesn’t know what. All he can hear is the ringing.

**Author's Note:**

> A drabble from my GCBC RP blog, hxlved@tumblr.


End file.
